


fiat - fix it again tomorrow

by sentenza



Category: Gomorra - La Serie | Gomorrah (TV) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Camorra, Dubious Consent, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, Internalized racism, Italian Mafia, Italian to English, Italy, M/M, Masturbation, Naples, POV Alternating, Past Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Phone Sex, Shower Sex, Translated by the original author, Translation, What-If, basically just an excuse for smut and fluff and angst, my babies are some "bad hombres", sorry folks, spoiler for season 3 finale, top!Genny, various kinds of sex really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-07-16 12:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentenza/pseuds/sentenza
Summary: (SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 FINALE IN THE SUMMARY. CAVEAT LECTOR.)Influenced by Azzurra's anxiety, Gennaro decides to reach Ciro to his hotel room to retrieve him himself. This results in a setback that prevents the visit to the graveyard and exposes the murder of The Wizard at the hand of the Capaccio brothers, before the meeting at the yacht.





	1. fiat

**Author's Note:**

> Because this thing has basically no plot, I might stop writing this at anytime and consider it completed.

**fiat - fix it again tomorrow**

 

 

I arrive at his shit-hole of a hotel thirty minutes early. To be fair, I shouldn't be here at all. We were set on meeting each other directly at the docks, but Azzurra's anxiety is rubbing off of me and now I'm feeling even less calm then when I left from home.

I'll feel better once we'll be together, it has always been like this.

I barely nod my head at the permed middle-aged monstrosity behind the desk and take the steps two at a time. I did not warn him I was coming, so the possibility that he already fucked off on his own is a real one.

Just in time.

He is opening his door when I finally land if front of his room. I'm trying to hide the fact that I'm slightly out of breath after two flights of stairs, but I still notice the weird expression on his face when he was about to leave his room, even if the surprise of seeing me here is quick to replace whatever it was. And whatever it was has just set my teeth on edge, like the sound of a hammer being cocked. Or the sound of a bike approaching your car window.

-Oh, Genna'... What are you doing here?-

-Just thought we could go together.- I answer, stuffing my fists in my pockets and advancing on him, making him back up inside the stuffy hotel room.

-You're leaving early...- I point out to him, feeling something in my jaw contract when he hesitates, bringing one of his hands to fidget nervously with the collar of his white shirt.

-I wanted to go somewhere else, first.-

He is being vague. Too vague.

We shouldn't have any kind of secrets at this point. We are together, now, on the same page and with one goal!

Unless... I've had this horrible idea percolating in my head since I saw him leaving in such a hurry, that he was going to have a “private meeting” before the party with that mangy piece of trash Enzo.

He said he chose me! He said I... The look, sad and embarrassed, he throws at the picture stuck in the mirror frame is like a bucket of ice-cold water on my face.

That's enough, he does not need to say anything to turn a good chunk of my rage into apprehension. Seeing him like this, in the middle of this dingy hotel room filled with empty beer bottles and stinking of stale smoke, all dressed up to go and visit his family at the graveyard, makes me uneasy. He looks like he is on the edge of something, like he is just passing through or on a loan.

Suddenly I feel like I've arrived just in time, tho' in time for what I don't know yet.

-You look good in that.-

He is trying to butter me up, the bastard. Should have learned by now that it just makes me more furious.

-Thanks... Azzura picked it.- I grind out rigidly. I don't like that he's still trying to play me, like he used to do when I was just a stupid kid following him around like some moon-eyed puppy.

He just nods slowly, his stretched grin turning more melancholy and wistful. I feel some of my rage drain away 'cause he must really be out of sort to not notice my souring mood. Maybe he isn't even trying to manipulate me on purpose, by now that's probably just a default defense mechanism for him.

-That woman is a real jewel. I'm happy that I managed to get her and Pietro back... But now is up to you. _You_ have to take care of them.-

'M going to crack a tooth if I keep clenching my jaw like this. I don't like how he is talking, I think starting to fidget with my rings, like getting Azzurra and Pietro back home was some kind of “last mission” to see through. Like he has no more reasons to stay, now. He has never looked this fragile, not even when I went and found him after his daughter's funeral, cowering in the Vele's belly like a wounded animal. Defeated but with still enough spirit left in him to flinch back from me when I got the gun out. Like I could ever... Tsk!

-Don't do what I did, okay, Genna'?- he goes on with a wavering voice that makes my heart clench painfully. -I was greedy. Wanted too much and now... Now I'm left with nothing.-

-That's not true...- I spit out, embarrassed by how fragile and charged my voice sounds, like I'm barely keeping it together. I've heard it all before, fuck you very much. I don't need a goddamned encore that is just going to make me feel more and more like crap. His head shaking and wet eyes feel like fucking rejection enough.

I'm here, right in front of him, ready to tear out with my bare hands the heart of anyone who's even thinking of looking at him the wrong way! Is this nothing? My devotion, my loyalty... My love. Is it all worthless, to him?

A couple of steps take me right in front of him, close enough to smell the familiar scent of tobacco and leather and to grab his shoulders, trying to catch his gaze with mine.

I want him to look at me, to see me. The more he tries to evade my eyes the more I feel my anger mount and my breath get heavy. After everything we have done he can't give up now, with the finish line in sight and the two of us finally together. It took me a trip to the other side of the world and seeing half my family six-feet-under to understand that, I and he are two faces of the same coin. Complete only when united.

Ciro turns his head, avoids my eyes and when he closes his lids in a last ditch attempt to avoid me, I finally grow the pair to graze his cheek with my lips. If I'm about to lose him again, might as well go all in, right?

It's nothing, I hardly touch him. And since he says nothing I do it again, this time with more weight and closer to the corner of his mouth. I linger a second too long to call it friendly or innocent.

I'm risking everything but at least he is looking at me, now. My hands are going numb and I feel my face start to burn in a way it has not burned since high school. This time he _must_ know, after all the times I was sure he had notice the attraction I feel for him, this one is the one when I'm truly, terrifyingly certain. I feel naked like a worm and if he was to reject me, to laugh in my face... Don't know what I could end up doing to him.

He hesitates, surprised. His soft dark mouth opens slightly and his gaze drops to my lips first and then up to cross with mine. A wavering hand goes to rest on my hammering chest while the one he raises to cup my face goes even more haltingly, like he is scared of touching me. I want to tell him that it's okay, it is more than okay! I've been waiting so long I... I just stay still, terrified of scaring him off like he was some kind of wild thing.

His eyes keep shifting between my own and my mouth in an almost calculating way, like he is testing me, trying to feel out where's the catch, if he can trust what he is seeing... And I must be doing something right, because his head bobs slightly, then more decisively, in a faltering nod.

I've waited this kiss that tastes of cigarettes and desperation for something close to fifteen years. Since the first time I saw him standing in my father's study, all sharp cheekbones, dark curls and eyes like the ones of an alley cat. Even back then I knew we were made for each other, I think sinking my tongue in his mouth and gripping his waist with the strength of someone who's trying to stop you from drowning.

 

⇄

 

I focus on the muscles in my thighs starting to burn, on the impalpable touch of my white shirt, the only thing I'm still wearing, brushing against the skin of my back with every downward thrust and on the feeling of his hands, big and scalding, that I'm keeping trapped in a grip against my belly. I'd prefer to use mine to brace against his shoulders and gain some momentum, but Gennaro keeps trying to touch me and I have no intention of cumming. It doesn't matter, even if some time has passed and the last time wasn't exactly consensual on my part, this is not my first time riding a dick.

I don't give a fuck if I'm making him angry by ruining his little romantic fantasy. My hotel room, my ass, my rules.

He'll keep his hands where I want them.

He is under me, groaning and grinding his teeth, his trousers and underwear still twisted around his knees where I left them. I didn't even let him the time to take off his shoes. The sooner it ends, the better it is. I guess I underestimated how much he wants this, though. Because even with his legs trapped by his pants and his hands gripped in to mine, he still manages to make me feel like I'm on a mechanical bull, getting all the leverage he needs by planting feet and shoulders in the mattress.

Predicting his movements is nearly impossible with such a staccato and uneven rhythm, meaning that some of his lunges hit their marks and get me good. They make my spine arch and my throat bare itself, because I don't have the strength to control them when I must grind his hands just below my navel even more forcefully, to prevent me from dragging them up to my nipples tortured by the soft cotton of my shirt, or down below where my treacherous body craves them more than anything.

He is close, I can see it from his face and the desperate note in his voice when he asks me, again and again, to let him touch me. He is so far gone that he can't keep his mouth shut. He calls me “love”, says how much he has wanted me and for how long, how many times he has dreamed of bending me over his father's desk, or tells me of that time he jerked off all over a blood stained t-shirt I forgot at their house after a hit gone badly.

No wonder that ugly bint of donna Imma had always hated me, Gennaro is not good at hiding his feelings for long.

He throws his had back in to the pillow with a snarl and I feel the huge muscles of his thighs strain and flex under me, making me gasp breathlessly and get distracted, so that his hands manage to brake my grasp, clashing the two wedding bands I wear on my left hand with one of his many rings. He recoils forward with a silent spasm, sitting on the bed and crushing me against himself so violently with his arms that it feels like my spine is about to be broken in two.

All I can do is clench my teeth and let him ride it out, while he pushes his flushed face against my sternum and pulls me down, making sure to have every centimeter of his cock buried inside me.

I made it. I did not cum.

I'm nothing but an empty husk and this is just more proof of that, this was nothing but goodbye present I gave him to repay him of every time I used this little crush of his for my personal gain. He bows his head with a sigh, mingling the sweat on his brow with the one on my chest and setting my skin alight with waves of goosebumps. I'm trying to calm down for when he will have to take it out and the last jab to my sweet spot that will come with that when, suddenly, I find myself on all fours on the bed, face sunk in the grimy hotel coverlet and ass up in the air.

-Wait! What are you-ghk!-

He is still hard enough to mount me again and push my hips against the mattress with an angry shove, underlined by a gurgled scream from me.

He is not thrusting, he just moves his hips in a circular motion, making my hard-on rub insistently against the bed. I try to brake free as much as I can, but he has at least twenty kilograms over me and I don't remember the last time I came.

I don't want the pleasure I'm feeling, I don't deserve it, the love I'm receiving with every thrust and every kiss he lays at the back of my neck. I wanted my punishment and my absolution, but I am too weak to give myself what I'm due, so here I am back in Naples hoping that someone will do it for me.

Of the Immortal, of Ciro from Secondigliano nothing is left.

Almost.

It's Gennaro my last bond with the past and a happiness I wasn't able to recognize. So it's kind of fitting that he be the one to use what little I'm left to give. Even if that is just my body. And it's fine with me, let him take his pleasure if he wants it. What is bothering me and making my blood pulse in my temples is that he seem to be offering me something more. Something I can not accept.

I should have never let him in. Now he is so deep inside me that he is able to stir all my apathy and self-hate to let a glimmer of hope I thought lost shine through.

Unfortunately I wasn't lying when I told Enzo that I couldn't stand the loneliness anymore and yet, before this night, I've always been able to control my body. Even when Tatiana had thrown herself at me, or when that fucking dog had got to me in the _privé_ above his nightclub, treating me like I was one of his cheap whores. He had took what he wanted from me and I had let him... After all, he didn't give a fuck if I cummed or not and all the pain and humiliation I deserved ten-folds.

With Gennaro it's different.

I can feel the pleasure mount more and more and an all-consuming want devour my brain and every coherent thought it contains. It's a temptation I can no longer resist.

“Forgive me” I think, turning my head toward the mirror and the photo, reduced to an unfocused mess by the tears of pleasure and guilt filling my eyes. I never thought that I could feel even more disgust for myself than I already do. His hand is firm and ruthless when it grabs my jaw and turns my face up toward him, twisting my neck at a painfully unnatural angle.

-Look at me... Only me!- he growls in my face. With my neck turned like this breathing is hard and when I come without a touch, all I can see are is teeth surrounded by darkness and fireworks.

 

⇄

 

Without my hold keeping his head raised, he collapses exhausted on the bed. His eyes are watering and his breath wheezy but his face looks more relaxed, almost younger. I'm holding myself up on my arms as much as I can 'cause I don't want to crush him, but I also don't want to move off of him just yet. One reason is that, every time I try to pull it out my dick hurts like a bitch, when he came I literally saw stars with his ass clenching like that on my overstimulated cock, the other reason is that having him here, trapped under my weight, makes me feel more secure.

Judging by the way he is completely abandoned on the bed, he must have gone through one hell of a dry spell. Maybe for him it's different, but if I don't eat or fuck enough I turn in to a beast. It's physiological, no wonder he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown... Right?

I hiss with my teeth clenched when I finally pull out. Fuck, motherfucking ouch! It's like someone tried to sendpaper it off and, from what I can see of his ass, it must be even worse for him.

I really should have took the time to take something off, because it feels like I'm about to pass out of heatstroke or suffocate. My t-shirt and hoodie are practically glued to my skin with sweat. Thank God the balcony door is open, letting in some air along with the sound of the city finally waking up after the sunset.

I sit up to take off some of my clothes, sweats first and then pants and shoes all end up in a pile on the ground just next to the bed. Not the best place, but they'll probably be in better shape than his... I think I popped more than a couple of seams getting them off of him. Not that he will need them soon, if I have it my way and he'll let me get him ready for a quick round two. Still sitting I reach out one hand and let it slide under his button-down shirt, he got that and I got the t-shirt, we are even now.

I let my fingers trace the bumps of his spine, upward first where his olive skin is hidden by the white cotton, and then down to his tailbone and ass... Which I'm just nuts about. Maybe someone would find it too full and round for a man, but I like it like this, so I just bend down and give it a nice bite.

He must be pretty out still, 'cause I don't get any reaction from him. It was gentler than I would have preferred, but still enough to leave behind a nice reddish mark. Was hoping for some breathless gasping but I kinda like him like this, spreadeagled on the bed, blinking slowly and letting me do whatever I want.

I wonder if he'll let me feel the wetness I left inside him with a couple of my fingers. Mh, nah... I don't wanna bother him too much, now that he seems to have relaxed a bit. Maybe more than a bit, if his blown pupils and slack mouth are anything to go by.

-We have to go, Genna'... This truce is important.-

Well, good morning, kitten. Doesn't his brain ever stop scheming? Not even after an orgasm that made him literally drool?

So much for my round two!

-Don't care...- is my answer, murmured against the skin of the small of his back.

He turns with a sigh, first on his side then on his back and looks at me with his eyes still damp and heavy-lidded. I see his mouth starting to twist in a grimace of reproach so I kiss him preventively. He must not be too concerned, after all, judging by how he is sucking on my tongue.

-You'll see, they won't even notice if we come a little late. They'll all be revved up and shit... And I've waited far too long for this.- I tell him with a smile, still leaning over his face.

I join him laying down at his side, my head level with his chest, and I make him turn toward me, letting my hands explore and caress... Pressing with my fingers to feel his ribs under the warm skin... Pushing the stone of one of my rings in the cup of his navel and finding out it's a perfect fit...

I move my palms upwards to reach his dark nipples and smooth them over with my thumbs, moving his white shirt just enough to take one in my mouth and feel it harden under the strokes of my tongue, then biting it with my front teeth and pull softly. I go easy on him, 'cause I know Azzurra hates this, she thinks it strange and in bad taste, especially now that we have a child. But that's the nice part of doing the dirty with a serial manipulator, they always know what you want and are amenable to give it if it fits their scheming.

That's why he indulges me, letting his fingers stroke through my hair down to my neck, while I breath in the smell of his skin and listen to his heartbeat, barely covered by the traffic noise coming from the streets and the insistent buzz of my phone ringing in the pocket of my discarded pants.

-Aren't you gonna answer that?- he asks me softly, sticking one of his hands down the back of my collar down to my shoulder blades. With an annoyed snort I give one last goodbye lick before parting from his skin and reaching to the floor to recover my phone. To be fair, it has been ringing nonstop for more than fifteen minutes.

I sit on the side of the bed, stretching the still free hand toward Ciro and resting my open palm on his throat, where I can feel his pulse beat.

-Hey.-

-Hey, Genna'...-

It's Nicola.

-Yeah, what is it?-

-Are you at the docks, yet?-

-No.- I answer with a cluck of my tongue.

-Something bad happened. The Wizard... He's dead!-

He must have noticed my uneasiness mounting, 'cause suddenly Ciro is up and sitting next to me to listen at what Nicola is saying. Looks like someone has caved in the old man's skull in his own home. Our gazes cross and I know that that brilliant little head of his is already at work. The Capaccio brothers? Or, maybe, that little piece of shit Blueblood... Has he cottoned on about Carmela? At this point is more than evident to both of us that the yacht party was just a ruse. I'm still on the phone when he goes to grab his from the nightstand.

-I have to speak to Enzo. Maybe...-

My hand is like a vice on his wrist and he looks at me irritatedly.

-I don't trust the bastard and that cunt of his little pal.-

He does not look convinced, but he seems to be thinking about what I just said. I know he doesn't like Valerio either. He is suspicious and for good reasons.

-Genna', we _need_ this alliance.-

-We don't need fucking anything from them. If it wasn't for you they'd still be the insignificant garbage they were and that's what they'll go back at being.-

He lets his cellphone fall on the messy bed, it looks like he got that the argument is over and I have no intention of discussing it further. For now, at least. I'm sure that as soon as I'll look the other way, he'll do what he wants anyway.

-Better if we move fast, if we want to screw them up. Before they have the time to salt-away all the hardware we gave them.-

I nod, then tell Nicola to get Patrizia and the guys and that I'll call him back later to tell him where we'll meet.

I have some valuable stuff to stow away first myself.

-Get your stuff.- I tell him pulling up my pants. -You can't stay here anymore, it's too dangerous.-

I don't even wait for an answer, going straight to the cheap closet in a corner of the room while he puts his clothes back on. The first door is empty, so is the second one, number three has a couple of shirts hanged and a half-full battered duffle bag thrown in a corner at the bottom. He has been back for months but almost all of his stuff is still packed in there. It makes the hair at the back of my head stand, even though I don't know exactly why.

I turn slightly to look at him over my shoulder. He is completely dressed, leather jacket and everything, and standing still in front of the mirror next to the bed, holding nothing but a phone charger, wallet and his passport.

He doesn't even twitch when I throw the bag on the mattress with more force that it truly needs. Circling the bed to get to him I stuff the two shirts I just got from the closet in the duffle bag. I don't give a fuck if I'm ruining them, I'll buy him a thousand if he likes.

I shoulder past him, still standing in some kind of daze, and open the table's drawer just below the mirror, getting the pack of ammo and the 9 in there and flinging them between the crumpled shirts.

My temper is seriously running out, we don't have time for this whiny crap. Not right now.

Despite this I'm gentle when I take the wallet from his hands and gentler still, when I remove the photograph from the mirror frame where it's stuck. Two pairs of dark eyes smile at me from the wrinkled surface. “Until death do us part”, right Deborah? Well, I think death has done you part quite some time ago, don't you think? I fold the picture carefully, open the wallet and put it between a 20 and some calling cards in Cyrillic. Then I take what's left in his hands and gently pack it with the rest in the bag.

He is facing me when I turn back at him, but his eyes remain distant and fixed on the floor. I come back at his side and take his left hand between mine, I know it must be all in my head, but it feels so cold and breakable that, when I squeeze it, I do it just barely. I hold it like I'm holding something fragile and precious and I feel him watch me, while I trace the contour of his fingers, his scarred knuckles and the two gold bands stacked on his ring finger. He says nothing even when I bow my head to kiss the back of his hand, followed by the inside of his wrist.

-Hey... I need you here.- I simply tell him.

Finally he looks at me and then he nods, making my heart explode.

With him at my side I can do anything. The world is ours, we just the need to reach out and take it, he must not forget this. I take off one of my rings and let it slide on the finger of his left hand, on top the two wedding bands already there. I bet he thinks it is hideously gaudy, but it has to be this one. It's the one I got the day we killed my father. In a way it has always been his. Ours. As a matter of fact, as soon as the dust will settle, I think I'll have an identical one made for myself.

Ciro looks at his hand, then back to me.

-You're a real fool.-

He is smiling and so am I.

He lift the bag from the stained covers and swing it over his shoulder with more energy I've seen from him in the last months and goes to the door, me following not too far behind. We have some heads to pop.

 

 

**the end?**

 


	2. jeep

**jeep - just expect every problem**

 

 

 

-Don't you fucking dare ever again, Genna'! Got it?-

He slowly turns away from the armchair where he just threw his leather jacket to look at me, furious and incredulous. -What? What the fuck are you talking about?!- Gennaro explodes, taking a step towards me. -I _dared_ because you are keeping this place like some fucking pigsty!-

His raising voice follows me in to the kitchen, the only room that's still as I left it this morning, except for the content of the fridge, now consisting in something more than a jar of pickles and a packet of expired baking soda.

I had noticed immediately, as soon as I stepped in from the front door, that there was someone else in the apartment, almost resulting in me putting one straight between the eyes of the middle-aged lady armed with duster and a spray bottle of glass cleaner getting out of the bedroom. As absurd as it was my mind had immediately run to don Pietro when she mentioned the “mister Savastano” that had apparently sent her here to clean and do some restocking. Still it did not take me long after that to throw her out of the door and give the right _mister Savastano_ a call.

-And last time I checked this was still my fucking house!- he shouts, stomping through the kitchen door after me. -Look at this!- he hisses picking up from the sink a glass bottle, half full of cigarette's filters and beer turned flat and muddy.

-You were the one to park my ass here in this shithole like an asshole!- I finally explode, feeling a rush of heated blood rise from below the collar of my sweater up, to my cheeks and ears. It had been him, after the mess with Enzo, to practically drag me to his car, drive for two hours straight and dump me here in the sticks, a plain condo near Terracina.

-What is it?- he sneers at me, opening the dishwasher door I didn't even know was there with enough force to almost tear it from its hinges and starting to throw in one encrusted coffee cup after the other. -Would have preferred to stay down below and get clapped by those retarded kids and the Capaccio?-

I really wish I could tell him that “yes, I would have preferred it”, but since we fucked this kind of answers makes him literally lose his mind. The first time had happened the second day after my forced removal, I had insisted to go back down to Naples, meet up with Enzo to talk some sense into his head and, maybe, crush the head of that little snake Valerio under my heel, but Gennaro had not even wanted to hear it.

Truth be told, he hadn't lost it immediately, he had started with a reasonable tone, so reasonable to border on condescending, like he was talking to a child or some female in hysterics and when he had reach out and brushed the edge of jaw with his fingers, to make me watch him in the eyes, I had been the one to snap. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?” I growled in his face slapping his hands off of me, my mouth twisted in the most violently disgusted expression it could produce.

Saying that he had turned as white as a sheet would have been and understatement, he had looked at me like I had just killed his mother.

Again.

Things had kind of gone south from there, hitting rock bottom when I had snapped back at him that I had no problems going back down on my own to have Enzo throw my carcass in to the gulf of Naples. He had almost broken one of my fingers when he had teared the phone from my hands to make it burst in a million pieces against the horrendous baroque wallpaper decking the wall.

I hadn't even blinked, just looked on at him like the dumb motherfucker he was, but when he had grabbed my discarded jacket and took the keys he had given me less than forty-eight hours before, then left the flat locking me in this mice-trap at the fourth floor, it was then that I had really began to freak out.

I shouted and kicked the door long enough to feel the taste of blood in my throat and understand that, whomever lived in this building, knew who lived here and that it was better no to meddle. He had came back hours later, in the middle of the night with some take-away pizza that I had thrown in the garbage still untouched the next morning, when he had finally left and I had gotten out from the bathroom where I had locked myself in as soon as I had heard his car come back.

This smell of sofrito, together with the vicious migraine that is crushing my brain to a pulp since yesterday evening, is making my stomach turn. I didn't even noticed Gennaro starting to cook, slumped over the table with my head between my hands like this.

-Take out the dishes.- he tells me in an irritated voice, without even turning. He waits one, two, three minutes then, when he sees I have no intention to lift my ass from this chair, he throws the wooden spoon he is using to stir the sauce and he does it himself. He doesn't even try to ask to take out the cutlery and I hate him when he comes toward the table I'm sitting at and makes it shake violently opening the drawer where the forks are.

I feel him rest his eyes on me for a couple of seconds and then close the drawer, gentler this time. Moving middle and ring finger a fraction I take a look at him, he is sighing and dragging a palm against the sweaty skin at the back of his neck before chucking away his hoodie and opening the window. It must be pretty sweltering there, near the stove, if the dark spots under his arms are anything to go by.

Wouldn't know, I don't cook.

The gust of fresh evening air carrying the sweet scent of the lindens surrounding the garden below gives me a moment or respite from the smell of stale smoke and cooking infesting the room. “God... Why did I do that? Why did I yield and let him fuck me?” I think looking at his back, broad and sweaty, eclipsing for a second the cloud of steam rising from the sink. I don't even know if he realizes what he is doing to me.

The plate of pasta he dumps in front of me is massive and I've not eaten since yesterday morning, but my stomach is so full of coffee and beer that my chest is burning like it was filled with drain cleaner, I have no idea if eating something would better or worsen the situation. Gennaro sets his own plate, just as big as mine, on the table too, then goes to the fridge opening both its doors wide and just stares unmovingly at the content for so long that the little beeping alarm, that tells you you are just wasting electricity and time, sets off. He sighs and when he comes back he has bottle in each hand, beer for him, and water that I'd wager is for me.

Mh, looks like someone has decided that I've drunk enough for today, I think feeling my lips contort in a sarcastic grin. If I wasn't about to throw up, I'd chug down the whole thing in front of him in one go jut to piss him off, but puking out my guts in front of him would do nothing to convince him that I don't need his help or, worse, his fucking pity.

Unlike me, he wastes no time bending over his plate and starting to dig in like a starving animal. He is starting to get pretty annoyed, it's obvious not just by the way he his shoveling food in his face, but also from the way he keeps clearing his throat and sniffling to brake the lead-heavy silence that is filling the kitchen, like the exhaust fumes of a car would fill a sealed garage.

-Are you gonna start?- he asks me in a tone that is curious cross between a warning and a question, his fork pointing at my still full plate. I ignore him and he just goes back to stuffing his mouth angrily. I'm a little surprised when he does not insist and I'm even more so when, emptied his plate, he reaches out to take mine and gets up from the table. With my plate, loaded and cold, in one hand and his beer in the other he leaves the kitchen, throwing an irritated “do the dishes, at least” behind his shoulder.

I obviously have no intention of doing any of that.

I hear the TV turn on in the living room on something I can't identify, with the audio muffled by the closed door and the racket of a huge moth repeatedly hitting the lamp hanging from the ceiling. I want to be alone, I want him to leave. Why do I have to put up with his shit? I could go and lock myself in the bedroom, but it just would not be the same thing.

It's clear by now that he will not leave until he'll get what he want and I think I might just know what that is. My head reels when I get up from the chair to reach the sink, colander and sauce-stained pan still lying inside, and open the tap to splash some water on my face. Better try not to look too much like the melting wax mask I see looking back at me from the darkness beyond the window, if I want do actually do what I'm planning.

 

Stepping into the dark living room, I immediately notice his shoulders get taut in the flickering light of the wide TV screen. Sitting on the sofa, empty plate on the floor next to him, he is still holding the beer in the hand hanging listlessly from the armrest, there must still be a couple of sips left inside, but he seems more preoccupied with trying to scratch the soggy label off with the fingernail of his thumb. He watches me approach from the corner of his eye and answers by lifting his free hand from the spot just next to him, laying a muscly arm on top of the backrest in a blatant and plain invitation.

I would make the whole process definitely faster were I to accept his silent suggestion and take the seat right next to him, maybe even resting my pounding head on his chest and pretending to find his pathetic blandishments charming, but I don't want to risk having to put up with his laughable attempts at seduction for hours on end. Having to feel his hand, broad and slightly damp, caressing my neck first and then lower along my back to finally come to rest heavily on my waist. Or having to bear the friction of his beard climbing up my neck to reach my ear, followed suit by his mouth.

No, I just need to make him come so he can get fucking lost and leave me in peace.

I sit on the opposite end of the sofa and set on just waiting and see. If what he told me back in the hotel room is true and he has been drooling after me since puberty, he might decide to do the first move and square this circle for me, I'll just have to speed up the process a bit... If I just knew how! Now that the precarious balance between us has shifted so drastically, I have no clue how to continue that little game I've been playing with him since I noticed how he would look at me whenever he saw me playing humble subject to his father.

I watch heedlessly a car blow up on the screen for no apparent reason after a couple of AK shots and determine that a blow-job probably is the best option. It's the fastest choice and I'm sure that once he'll have cum he won't try to stick his paws in my trousers to reciprocate.

The more minutes pass, the more he seems to become restless, bunching one of his knees and pattering irritatingly with his fingernails on the dewy glass of the bottle he is holding, the clincking repetitive sound setting my teeth on edge.

I just want to sleep. I just want some damn silence! I just want to be left the fuck alone!

That's it, this is enough.

Gennaro clears his throat and rises the bottle to his lips, guzzling down the last sips left and making his Adam's apple bob under the shadow of beard trailing down to his neck, and when he bends on one side to set down the empty bottle I make my move. I shift towards the opposite side of the couch and in an instant I'm on my knees besides him, with my hands on the zipper of his jeans. He is so startled that he almost jumps on his feet.

-What are you doing?!- he gasps, face blushing furiously and eyes that look ready to pop out of their sockets, even though, now that he seems to have realized I'm just trying to open up his pants, he has stopped trying to block my hands. -What is it, Genna'?- I rasp out, breathless just as much as he is, even if I don't know why. -Just going to give you what you you are here for.-

He is already half-mast and I've not gone beyond the fabric of his boxer shorts yet, but suddenly something changes in his expression. -Don't tell me you came just to watch movies.- I tell him licking my lips, gone dry and chapped by my heavy breathing. The shove he gives me getting up is so forceful that I crash back where I was sitting and almost fall to the floor. It's not the first time that he looks at me with hate, disgust and hurt, but there seems to be something different this evening. After what I had done to my family, I really had thought I could not end up being more revolted with myself than I already am, but I was wrong, apparently. He is towering over my, fists clenched and shoulders contracted, dark and furious, and I know that were he to decide to kick me to death like the dog I am, I wouldn't even try to protect myself. I'd just let him.

I notice I'm trembling only when he tears his eyes away from me, his head shaking. -You really are a whore...-

I have not felt this dirty in years.

He grabs the jacket he had thrown on one of the armchairs and almost trips on the greasy plate he had left on the floor in his rush to leave. When I finally manage to force down the lump of shame that's clogging my throat to shout back at him that he is nothing but an impotent and hypocritical fag, the door has already closed after him with a slam so strong to shook the windows glass.

Well, I got what I wanted, didn't I? I can finally have some peace, I tell myself listening to his car leave with tires skidding on the pavement and kicking the coffee table in front of me shattering the glass top in a thousand peaces.

 

It has been barely half an hour since Gennaro left and I have just finished picking up all the glass shards littering the living room floor, not that I have decided to be his fucking maid like he wants, I just don't fancy slicing my foot open if I decide to get up in the night and get a glass of water. The sudden racket of someone banging viciously on the front door makes my heart skip a beat, and my mind immediately runs to the 9 millimeters I keep in my nightstand drawer. I panic for the instant it takes me to wonder if it's loaded, but of course it is. It always is.

-Open! Ciro, open this fucking door! You hear me?!-

It's Gennaro. Maybe I still need the gun, after all. Looks like I would not be fine with him stomping on my neck and brake my spine, after all.

-I told you to open!- he keeps shouting, more and more mad. He must have finally noticed that the keys to the flat are missing from his pocket, that stupid motherfucker. I don't even know why I go to let him in, maybe it's just to prove, to him and to me, that I'm not scared, neither by him, nor the by consequences, nor by the pain. Nor by anything.

The instant right after I make the lock pop, the door swings open with the momentum of his entire weight behind it. He threw his shoulder against it as soon as he saw it open a chink, almost like he was scared that I would change my mind and slam it back shut on his ugly mug.

His jaw and fists are clenched while he advances towards me, the door banging close behind him. I wish wasn't, but I'm backing away from him.

He garbs my arms, slams me against the hall wall so violently that he knock the breath out of my chest and kisses me.

I use every ounce of strength I have in my body to try and push him away. I bite him, scratch him and throw some punches that, with no room to give them some weight, have no real power behind them. This fucking conceited piece of shit! He just called me a whore! Humiliated and rejected me and... And when he whispers, maybe more to himself than to me, that he can't stay away from me, I give up.

He wasn't reluctant before, when I was trying to bite it off, to try and shove his tongue in my mouth, now he is not even pretending to keep himself under control. Our incisors knocking together give me goosebumps, like scratching my nails down a blackboard, making me break away with a hiss and he takes advantage of that to bow his head and gain access to my neck by nudging my jaw up with his nose, since his hands are still busy with crushing my arms to the wall.

I don't remember when he became taller than me, so little is the difference between us, but now those five centimeters make an ocean of difference. I grew up on my own, able to rely only on myself and just the idea of actually _needing_ someone for anything is enough to make me disgusted with myself. I'm not a victim, I never have and never will need anyone but now, here, pressed tight in the suffocating space between the wall and his big and sturdy chest, I feel like I've never felt before now. Sheltered and loved.

Fragile, insecure, ready to fall in to pieces at any moment.

Finally his hands stop mangling my biceps and rise to keep my head in position, facing upwards, while he works at what will surely be a garish hickey just above where the jugular is beating. -You smell like an ashtray...- he pants against my clavicle, sliding one of his thumbs towards my mouth to drag down my lower lip and trace the edge of my teeth.

He leaves my neck alone to stand back straight and gaze on in wonder at his finger, repeating his last movement one more time just to push it inside my mouth and follow it suit with his tongue. This kiss is the strangest I've ever felt in my life, my tongue getting caressed from his own and his thumb at the same time.

It's intimate, possessive. Obscene, almost.

I'm so hard that it hurts.

For all this time I did not know what to do with my hands, keeping them clawed at the wall behind me, but now that I feel that one of his has slithered down to my pants zipper, I let my own snap closed around his wrist. The more I try to hinder his movements, the more they become angry. -No...- I mumble with my mouth full. -No... I said no!- I shout, jerking my face to one side and dislodging his thumb, but he does not stop. Even better, he uses his now free hand to make the button of my trousers pop, pull down the zipper and grab my dick in a hand still wet with my spit.

Had someone heard the sound I just made, they would probably think that I just crushed my fingers in a drawer, not that someone his giving me a hand-job, but the friction is too much just as his rings are. It hurts but, God, how long since I felt a hand on my cock!

-Wait... waitwaitwait!- I moan brokenly, still trying to stop him. -I do-n... Don't touch... me. I don't want... !-

I hate how plaintive my voice sounds. If I was stronger, less of a coward, I'd be able to get his hands off me. I'd be able to be alone. I'd be able to put a bullet between my eyes.

He is trying to gain some speed but I'm not letting him, sinking my fingernails in the skin of his wrists and holding on to the golden strap of the gaudy watch he his wearing.

I don't know how he does it, since the space is virtually non existent, but he manages to push his other hand even deeper in to my pants, squeezing my balls and going to press two of his fingers against the smooth patch of skin just behind them. Every muscle in body contracts in a spasm just to melt immediately after, making me fall forward, with my face against his shoulder and suffocating my litany of “don'touchmedon'touchme _please_ don'touchme” against the soft black leather of his jacket. I should be ashamed, I know, but right now I don't give a fuck about anything. Mmmh, he smells like cologne and hair gel...

When he tears his hand out from my pants I'm equally disappointed and relieved, until I notice him fumble with his own zipper. I've already seen him naked and I know his friends used to rib him about this, but ok, yes, the size is still kind of a surprise.

How did I do it last week?

Gennaro bends his knees slightly bringing our hips closer, like he is about to compare our sizes. This better not be some stupid locker-room shenanigan or els- … Oh. No, it's not. His hands too are big, because he has no trouble taking both of us in one palm and start to pump his fist.

I still have my hand around his wrist, but somehow I don't think I'm still hindering him. In fact, it might even look like I'm helping. That's a pity because, right now, with him leaning against me with his forehead resting against the wall and his mouth panting against my ear, would be just the perfect moment to brake his hold, push him off of me and grab the vase next to us to smash it on his face.

The more his arm moves the more the situation betters, becoming wet and scalding, but truth be told, he could be tearing off all the skin from my dick and I still would not care. The pleasure is so strong that I almost miss the fact that I'm now clinging to him, fisting my hands in the fabric covering his back under the leather and moving my hips in time with his hand-job.

His “like this” fill my ears while the muscles of his thighs and abdomen contract, pushing him forward and bending his wrist further towards me, so that when I cum, I do it all over myself, followed suit by him after barely three more strokes. My hands are still clawed at his back while we both bow our heads together, short of breath and hearts still racing, to look down at the runny mess dripping down my sweater and the skin of my abdomen to the dark curls just above my spent cock. “Ugh, damn. Just my shit luck!” I think exhausted, wiping my dripping forehead against his shoulder and thinking about the shower I'll now have to take.

I almost fall to the ground when Gennaro gets off of me and, without saying a word, starts doing up his pants.

Just like that, like he has just finished taking a piss.

He doesn't even look at me and it might be better this way, since my legs are barely holding my weight and I have no intention of pulling up my clothes with this slimy crap all over my crotch and thighs. I'm not an expert in his bed-side manners, but still I must admit that I was expecting... Something.

He is only trying to act aloof, indifferent, just to show me that he can be cold, just like me. Give him five minutes and I bet he'll start sniveling and drooling all over me for some attention and... And nothing, he sniffles wrestling momentarily with the button of his jeans and the next moment he is at the door, wasting no time getting out on the dark landing outside. I expect him to slam it shut but I'm proven wrong one more time, he lets the door slide close under its own weight.

It's a bluff, he'll crawl back to beg for something, just like he did no more than ten minutes ago.

Just as I thought, even if he has left and closed the door, I can't hear the echo of his steps along the stairs. I knew it.

I hold my still gasping breath to better listen and I resume breathing only when the rumble of his heavy boots, going down the marble flight of stairs, hits me right in the chest

I keep waiting for him to come back even while repeating to myself that it is better this way.

 

 

**the end?**

 


	3. honda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is dedicated to the guy that PMed me to ask me if I wasn't ahsamed of using "dead men" for my "GAY sexual fantasies". Enjoy this 5K+ of porn, dickhead.

**honda – hang on, not done accelerating**

 

 

 

 

-Stop that!- I spit out in an out of breath growl, missing the key-hole for the third time in a row trying to open the door to the apartment. It's not easy with my hands trembling like mad and Ciro doing his goddamned best to break free from the hold I have on his wrist.

-Let go... letgoletmego!- he wheezes, his gasps short and faltering just as mine are, after having to drag his uncooperating ass up four flights of stairs. I almost let out a sight of relief when I manage to thread the lock and make it click, using the momentum of the opening door to hurl him inside and close it behind us with such a resounding boom that it must have echoed trough all the fucking building.

A couple more minutes and I doubt I would have made it, I think feeling my left side start to burn and pulse, the torn fabric of my t-shirt stuck like tar to the edges of the bleeding gash there, pulling and tearing the skin even more than the bullet already did. I should probably check it out, make sure that nothing ended up stuck inside the wound, but I have something else on my mind right now.

He is giving me his back, standing rigid against the hallway wall, forehead and fists pressed against it and shoulders rising and lowering violently, every gasp of air punctuated by a series of “fuck you” that get more forceful and mean every time his mouth opens.

-What the fuck do you think you were doing?!- I bark at his turned back when he starts punching the wall. He is going to break his stupid hand if he keep this up... Whatever. _His_ fucking problem! If he wants to keep throwing a tantrum and smash open his fucking dick-head against the wall too, I'm not gonna stop him!

With one last strangled yell he stops, still leaning against the wall to catch his breath, palms open and trembling against the wallpaper, now stained with the blood smearing his knuckles. Just in time, had he keep the hysterics on for a couple more seconds I wouldn't have been able to help myself, I'd have intervened, trying to hold him... Or, possibly, strangle him. It's hard to admit it, even in the privacy of my brain, but it's not just anger making the blood in my temples pulse. It's also fear.

I've never seen him like this, emotional and out of control. It's hard to reconcile the broken, worn man in front of my eyes with the Ciro living inside my head, cold, charming and confident. The man I always wanted to be and having failed miserably at becoming, decided I would posses instead. This is a problem, because if he no longer is like he used to be than I don't need him anymore and I have no reason to keep him with me... Except for the fact that I think about fucking him 24/7, of course.

-Well? What's that, have you gone deaf?- I shout, grabbing him by one shoulder and forcing him to turn and face me. - You shouldn't have meddled, Genna'- he answers, gaze trailed to the floor and voice scratchy with the all the shouting he just made. - I had everything under control.- he concludes dragging a shaking hand across his pale and sweaty face.

- _Everything under control..._? Oh. OH! What the fuck are you babbling about?!- I explode in disbelief. -Had I not have someone follow us, now you'd be pushing up daisies somewhere and it would have been me to put you there!-

I still can not believe what that little piece of shit had tried to do, put a 9 in my hand and told me to shoot Ciro after I warned that fucker Enzo, no more that two weeks before, that I'd have teared his heart out had he even thought to try and take him down. I'm still thanking God for having decided to have my men follow us, after Ciro had arranged that meeting with Blueblood and his little gang of nobodies. Had it not been for Nicola... Don't know how it would have ended.

-What did you think that fucking rat would have done, after you made up that load of bull about you having been the one to have that ugly bitch of his sister kick the bucket, mh?!- I press him, advancing on him menacingly while he looks on at me unfazedly from behind the dark fan of his lashes.

-I would have fixed everything! With your connections is South America and his manpower, you two could still...-

-He would have killed you!- I burst out furiously, sending a ceramic key bowl next to me smashing against the wall and a sharp stab trailing from my side up to my arm.

-I know.- is all he says looking, suddenly calm and composed, looking me in the eyes. The still bleeding grazing gun wound on my ribcage from that shot from Enzo suddenly hurts less.

Was this his plan all along? The one that should have fixed everything? Taking all the blame of my fuck-ups on himself and getting himself killed by those stupid kids and then have me sit at the table with those that had taken the life of the only person I've ever... How could he have even though of that?

I must be looking at him with the most retarded expression my face can produce, because he raises one eyebrow and with an assholeish grin asks me: - What's that, Genna'?-

I can't answer him and tell him that after everything that had happened in his hotel room... After everything I'd told him, I had though... Hoped...

Looks like I don't have to say it out loud after all, it must be written all over my face, seeing the spiteful lough that comes from his mouth. -What is it, Genna'?- he teases me again, his voice getting more and more venomous. -What were you thinking, that you had solved all of my problems with your dick?-

No, but with my love? Maybe.

Even in the intimacy of my skull these words make me die of shame. I'm not a fag...

-Think your cock has magical powers?- he keeps laughing in my face ruthlessly, while I start to feel the blood rushing to my head. -Saint Gennaro's cock!-

When I raise my arm, hand closed in a fist, he finally shuts up, but the blow he is expecting never comes. Today I came really close, but I'd never raise my hand against him. I know that, were I to start, I would not be able to stop myself until I'd end up beating him up within an inch of his life. In the true sense of the word.

Just the idea of having his blood on my hands is enough to drain every drop of anger I've left in me and leave behind only disgust and pain. I feel the torn t-shirt become warm with my blood and the muscles in my jaw relax. That sudden movement with my arm must have reopened the wound, tearing away the fabric stuck there with the dried blood, I realize bringing one hand up to my ribs and taking it off smeared in warm red.

-What's that?-

-What is it, Ciru'? Thought you were the only one that could get themselves clapped?- I answer him, dragging the sticky-wet palm on my hoodie to clean it. I watch him push himself off of the wall and see him take a hesitant step toward me out of the corner of my eye. When I look at his face he seems surprised, shaken almost.

He must not have noticed the blood with all the black I'm wearing. It's not such an ugly wound, after all, but I sure bled like a stuck pig. I bet I've stained the car seat too. That's it, I'm done with his dramatics. I hurt everywhere and I better clean up and get a change of clothes before getting back behind the wheel. Azzurra is already hysterical as it is, I don't wanna think how she'd react if I were to come home at the crack of down and covered in my own blood. -I'm gonna get a shower.- I grumble to no one in particular, dragging my exhausted ass out of the stifling corridor.

 

I have blood even on my socks, I notice with mild surprise waiting for the water to reach the right temperature. Undressing ain't not been easy with that gash on my side and the congealed blood sticking my clothes to the skin and hairs of my torso. Pants came off easy enough, but I still got the t-shirt on me when I enter the glass cabin filling up with steam. A couple of minutes under the spray and all that caked mess melts away in a ferrous stream, turning the white ceramic around my feet a deep rusty color, that turns even deeper when I take off the ripped shirt and let it splash to the ground. I look listlessly at the shelf crowded with bottles of shampoos, body lotions and shower-gels of every kind, picking the first not for women or children and I pouring it directly on myself.

I got this apartment immediately after Azzurra had told me she was pregnant. A quiet, out of the way place, right between Rome and Naples, safe - you know, in case my father had got some strange notion in his head, with a new child-bearing-age bride-to-be on the way - and stocked it up with everything we might have needed. I'm pretty sure there are still several diapers and some baby formula in the closet highest shelf.

Pretty ironic that what I ended putting up here is the closest thing to a mistress I ever had, I think looking at the still full bottles of pomegranate-scented hair conditioner for dyed hair and baby oil. I'd do better not to think too much about all of this, I decide closing my eyes and letting the warm water wash away this shit day, just to reopen them when I hear the bathroom door being opened and then immediately closed. What the fuck does he still want?

I don't turn around, choosing to just ignore him while keeping and eye on his unfocused image reflected by the shower chromed taps, and keep doing that also when he comes closer, letting the glass panel slide open with a whisper and a gust of cold air. I almost don't feel his hesitating fingers land on my naked shoulder, the sensation confused by the pattering drops on my skin.

I stay still. If he wants something, he'll have to ask for it, this time, I tell myself even if my hart starts hammering in my chest and my blood heating up. An instant as long as a century passes and I feel him leaning his forehead against the top of my spine, followed by a trembling sigh and the touch, almost non-existent on the wet skin, of his lashes when he closes his eyes.

-I don't want to have something to lose again, Genna'... I can't.- he murmurs, letting his hand slide down to my shoulder blade, a few centimeters shy of the red gash on my side. -I can't take it. I'd prefer... - he halts with a shake of his head. This time I do turn around, making his hands fall from my body, to look at him. Barefoot, his clothes still on, face turned to ground with his eyes closed and soaking wet, he almost looks like he is crying. And it would serve him well. Let him cry a little bit! Maybe sniveling a little will help him clear some of the shit from his brain and he would stop spewing bullshit like an hysterical broad.

But then I think about the parents he never even met, the man who raised him and that died in his arms, the woman that he loved and that he killed with his own hands, his best friend gunned down like a dog for a power game and his daughter, ended up in a grave before even turning thirteen... And never, not even once, have I seen him cry.

For a time I was pretty convinced that he was actually incapable of doing it.

And maybe it' would have been better that way, because that time in Trieste was the only time he almost did it, and it had been enough to make my hands shake and convince me to sell out my father. I've always been a weakling when it came him.

I wish I could promise him that I'll never leave him, that not even the Devil could tear me from his side, but I know he'd knew that to be the usual crap. Sooner or later, we are all gonna die plying this game.

… And who's the hysterical broad, now?

I reach my arms around him, almost like I'm about to hug him and close the cabin door that he left open. On their way back my hands stop at the sides of his face, raising it up towards mine, caressing with the thumbs the rough edge of his jawline until he finally decides to open his eyes and look at me. Reddened as they are, the green hidden in the irises stands out even more, they are the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen and my mouth turns in an almost involuntary smile.

-What are you thinking about?- he whispers, so faintly that I have trouble hearing it even in this enclosed space, cramped and narrow like a pine box. -Just thinking that my father and that piece of shit Conte have been real lucky, because these - and I barely graze his crazy-long lashes with a finger, -were the last thing they saw.-

And then I kiss him because, well, fuck it, I'm made of flesh and bone like everyone else. And it looks like I have not lost that much blood, after all.

It's strange to feel all these wet clothes on naked skin, but not unpleasantly so. In fact, it's pretty exciting to tell the truth, I think grabbing the flesh of one side hidden under the water-logged fabric of his sweater. And it's even more exciting when he takes off his dark shirt and remains clad only in the tank he is wearing under that, I decide massaging the dark shadow of a nipple faintly visible under the white cotton turned transparent by the water. I hang one hand at the neckline of his top to drag it down and reach whatever is under there, but he rests his hands on my chest and pushes me away slightly, letting one of his fingers trace the words inked around my neck, almost like he his reading them, just to then step away as much as the tight space of the shower-cabin lets him.

His jeans lands with a splash in the water that has now reached our ankles, with our clothes covering it I don't think the shower drain is still working properly. Not that I give any kind of fucks now that I can see that his Y-fronts have turned see-through as well. I'm about to ask him to turn on himself and let me take a nice look at all the goods on display, when he falls on his knees in front of me and looks up. -I want to suck you off.- he tells me, making precum spurt from my tip with a painful stab at my balls. Well, aren't these the sweetest words that a mouth could form?

In all this years I've compiled a pretty long mental list of all the things that I would have liked to do to and with him. And even if not number one on the inventory, a BJ is definitely in the top three.

His eyes land on my cock and I'm in luck he does not wait for any answer from me before taking it in his hand and give a couple of strokes liking his lips, 'cause the only thing I cant think of saying is to get moving before I cum on his face without even being touched.

He gazes back into my eyes and then swallows me down just like that, his lips sliding slowly down the shaft, to the hand he still has around the base to help both of us, me to not cum and him to avoid having my dick down to his tonsils. I have to rest a moment against the cold tile wall behind me, because between the the humid heat of the water cascading down my chest and all the blood I've left pooling in my nether regions, I can feel my head start to spin. He does it on purpose to wait for my eyes to be back in focus and on him, to open his jaw wider and push me against the inside of his cheek, making it bulge obscenely. Fucking slut.

God... I wish I was filming him.

Still helping himself with one hand he puts my cock back straight down to path to his throat and starts to slide down to where his fingers let him, he goes slow and uses a lot of pressure when going down and a lot of tongue when he reaches the slit at the top.

I don't want to miss even a second of this, but I have to stop watching him, for a moment at least, because I don't want to cum immediately. I want to enjoy this, I want him to work for it.

I feel the hand he had clawing at my thigh let go of its hold and rise, grabbing one of my own closed in a white-knuckled fist and bring it to the back of his head, while his other hand lets go of the hold around my cock letting some of the blood flow out and making me heave a sigh of relief... That does not last long, because the hand he still has pressing mine behind his head, starts pushing downward.

I hesitate for a second, If there's something I learned about blow-jobs in general in that, when you are getting one, you better keep your hands to yourself. Both Jessica and Azzurra had always been abundantly clear on this topic. But it looks like Ciro hasn't got the memo, because he keeps on suggesting I start fucking his mouth. And who am I to refuse?

So I open my hand to have a better grip, while he takes his off to brace against the wall at my back, and push his head down on my cock, forcing my way to the snug little space beyond his tongue.

Even if I was not able to see his face turn red and his eyes start to water, the sounds coming from his throat would be enough to make me bust my nuts. That or the line of spit dripping from his chin to his chest. It looks like he is really drooling for it.

With all the testosterone coursing through my veins I feel my thoughts and thrusts take a darker, more violent turn, making me speed up and then slow down to a stop when I'm real deep down inside his mouth. I want to look at him struggling and reeling to breath with my cock closing up his throat and the water falling from above probably ending up his nose. I do this a couple of times more but every time I take it all out to let his cough and catch his breath, he is ready to swoop down for another round, like he he can't help himself, like he is gagging for it. “This fucking whore...”, hisses a familiar voice inside my head.

Is this his first time? Has he done it, already? I wonder if Enzo, or Rosario, or even... No. That's fucking disgusting. I don't want to be thinking of them while I'm about to cum in his mouth. Dammit! Fuck this shit! Now I can't fucking stop!

I don't think I'm his first, but he is not that good so... Maybe...

-Open up,- I tell him pushing him off of me angrily and replacing his mouth with my hand, that glides smoothly on the thicker drool that was at the bottom of his throat and now is slathered on my dick. -Yeah, just like that... Your tongue as well.-

He understood immediately what I wanted from him and a couple of wrist flicks is all that it takes for me to start cumming in his mouth. Or in its general direction, anyway. Chin and lips are good as well.

I clean the last, heavy drop still clinging to the slit directly on his outstretched tongue. -Swallow... Yeah, lick that up, kitten.- I tell him in a rumble, reaching the underside of his jaw with the fingers of my free and to close his mouth up and rise his head enough to let me see his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallows. Between his spit and all the rest he has a nice mouthful that has to go down in two gulps.

I would give all of Secondigliano to skip the refractory period and get it back up immediately.

Letting my head fall back against the wall I close my eyes, just for a second, to catch my breath and then... I hear the cabin door slide open and I have just enough time to get a glimpse of his fantastic ass, squeezed in those slip that at this point don't really cover anything, disappearing beyond the bathroom door.

What the fuck?

I wait a second to see if he is coming back but, okay, fine by me, if he wants to play hard-to-get I'm game. He was sporting wood the whole time, that was impossible not to notice and all the broads I banged might say that I don't have a six-pack, or that I don't look like frigging Brad Pitt, but sure as hell none of them can say that they left unsatisfied. He won't be any different.

 

When I reach him in the bedroom he has his back turned, he doesn't even seem to notice me, bent over the chest at the end of the bed as he is. One shove is enough to have the both of us fall forward on our knees onto the mattress. Judging by the elbow he almost plants between my ribs I must have startled him quite a bit. -What is it, Ciru'?- I smile nibbling his ear. -Think you're the only one going hungry?-

Okay, maybe I could have gone with something a little bit... Classier, but there's really no need for him to look at me this way. -Wait, Genna'!- he blurts out panting when I force his shoulders down, so I won't have to keep looking at his scandalized expression. Like he wasn't chocking on my cock just minutes ago, this little hypocrit! -You have already... Hnn!-

-Yeah, I did,- I stop him biting his shoulder. -But you didn't.-

-There's.. Mnh, no need...- Ciro sighs, though the way he started moving his hips when I switched to licking the back of his neck tells another story completely. -You, uhu... You are... You got shot!- he moans, trying to stop the hand I snaked up the soggy top to reach a nipple. Yeah, my side hurts like a bitch, but I wouldn't stop even if they had teared one of my arms off.

I take a moment to decide how I'm going to proceed while sticking my hands anywhere they can reach, scrunching up his undies and making them drip all over the coverlet with some of my blood mixed in there too. Because, who gives a fuck, really? After this I'm headed back home to Azzurra, it's not like I'm gonna sleep here.

I should probably reciprocate a blow-job with a blow-job, but I've never sucked off a man and I don't feel like making a fool out of myself tonight. In return I've licked a lot of pussy, always from clit to tailbone. I'm good at that and I like it. Azzurra says I do it to compensate, whatever the fuck that means... Anyway, Ciro might not have a pussy, but he does have an ass. Half the hassle, right?

He seems to calm a little when I get up from his back, it does not last long, tho', just the time for me to reach his waistband and pull his sopping tighty-whities down to his knees.

God, I can not believe I can finally touch, I think grabbing a cheekful in each hand and squeezing tightly. -Genna'!- he exclaims with a voice that has gone several octaves higher, his hands scrabbling to pull his underwear back up. -Ssssh... Just let me.- I breath to him, using one hand to push his head back on the mattress, while tracing with my other hand the contours of the gun he has tattooed right above his ass, on the right. A gun inked on the side is pretty common, a lot of people have it, but on him? I don't know, it has something obscene about it. It might be the way the barrel kind of trails down a little too far on his full ass-cheek... I should track down the guy who inked him and break his arms.

Enough fucking around, I might not have a magic cock, but he'll have to admit that I'm pretty talented with my tongue. I gather some spit in my mouth and then give a broad swipe that runs the whole of his crack and keep doing that until he is all nice and wet and my tongue just slides without friction on his skin. He is squirming a lot and I wonder if maybe my beard is bothering him when I stop at his hole and start to push.

He has goosebumps all over, I realize running my palm up his twitching thigh to try calm him down and just let me do my thing. It seems to be working because his shallow breathing gets slightly less panicky - or maybe he is just starting to feel light-headed from all that hyperventilating he is doing – and the ring of muscle my tongue is trying to enter suddenly gives. He almost screams. Nice.

It's all about the neck, really. Pushing it in and pulling it out, scrape some teeth where the skin is thinner, let him feel my hot breath against the wet-cold skin at the small of his back, run my thumb up to press against the smooth patch of skin between his holes and his balls to make him to that high-pitched snarl he does... I'm so fucking good at this, I'm sure I'll have him beg me to do far worse to him real soon. I can't wait for him to ask me to fuck him, so I can just tell him “no”.

I'd kind of like to wait for him to give up and start pushing back and fuck himself on my tongue – I'm sure I can get him there – but there's something I really really want to do and I don't have all night. I get back up on my knees and slide my middle and ring fingers inside him to keep him going. He takes them without any trouble and now he does start to move on my fingers. I don't think he is even aware of this, judging by his tearing, unfocused eyes and slack mouth, slick and swollen and so dark, smushed against the white coverlet. Had he not been sucking on cock just minutes ago, I would love to stick my tongue in there too.

He slams back in this bedroom from cloud nine when I bend and give him a merciless bite on his upturned rump. Yup, definitely felt that, since he screams for real this time and I know that if I was not holding his hips with both my hands he would have sprang away from me far further than he did, which was just enough to dislodge my fingers from his hole.

Almost perfect, not strong enough to brake the skin and make him bleed but with sufficient strength to leave him with a pretty purple mark that will last for weeks. Just too high, maybe. I reach the back of his head with my hand push him down yet again, making him arch his back even further and forcing him in a position that must be really uncomfortable. Its' just for a second, though, the time to make him present the softer, meatier part of his ass, that special strip of skin just above the line separating cheek from thigh, and bite him again there. - Aah! What the fuck, Genna'!- he snaps pissed off, trying to hit me with his hand and, when that fails, with his foot. -You fucking – he grunts out, from where I'm pushing his reddened face in the duvet, my other hand clenched around his ankle. -Animal... You, ngh... Get your dir- … ty paws off of... -

-Ssssh-ssh... I'm sorry, love, I'm sorry... - I murmur against his spine, trying to get him back in the mood, pushing the two fingers I had inside him back in, making number three join them soon and crooking them to make him melt with a plaintive mewl. So, here it is number one on my list. Is it weird?

This has been on my list for almost a decade, that is since when at fourteen I stole this Harlequin romance from my mom's bedroom – mainly because of the pirate and the lady with huge jugs on the front cover – where this exact thing was described. A bite right there, where ass meet thigh and where it will be felt every time someone will sit down. I tangible reminder of who owned that particular strip of flesh.

I tear out my fingers roughly and he answers with a strangled gurgle. This would be the perfect moment ream in and start giving him a serious plowing, I muse looking at his gaping hole. Such a pity I wouldn't be able to get it up even with a kilo of Colombian white cut proper. His amazing BJ of fifteen minutes ago really drained my balls.

I use my thumbs to open him up even more and I spit inside before sticking my tongue back in. He must be pretty close, judging by how his movements are getting more and more rhythmic and by the groans the coverlet can no longer muffle, but I doubt he'll be able to cum like this. And, to be fair, it's almost one in the morning and it will take at least two hours to get back down home. I'm trying to grow the balls to turn him on his back and take him in my mouth when I feel his whole body contract and something hot spurt on my knee.

Suddenly his muscles start to give in some kind of backlash so I get my face out of his ass and help him stretch out his cramped back by gently lowering his pelvis on the bed.

I'm surprised, but also kind of flattered. It must have been a good one, judging by the waves of twitching making his thighs quake.

That first time, at the hotel, I had thought it a side effect of the crazy almost-two-years long dry spell he went through, but it looks like some kind of catatonic trance after a mind-blowing orgasm is just the norm for him. He doesn't even seem to be aware of my index finger sliding between his cheeks to massage his hole, which must be all tingly after almost ten minutes of vigorous attentions.

I'm kissing his neck leaning on my elbow when I feel him stir and then suddenly freeze, rigid like a piece of wood. He pushes my face away with one hand, while he uses the other to dry his reddened cheeks, still shining from tear-tracks and sweat. In a matter of seconds he is on his feet, trying to drag his underwear up his shaky and unstable legs. -Where are you going?- I ask him in a disbelieving laugh when he starts toward the bedroom door. -Oh, Ci'!-

Nothing. Not one kiss, a caress or even some thanks for having made him cum like a fountain... I have troubles admitting it but, after last time, when he had pissed me off so much to make me leave right after, I kind of had hoped in some cuddles. I get up with a grunt and drag my naked ass to the corridor outside just in time to see the door to the guest room slam close and hear the lock clicking shut.

What the hell...

It doesn't matter, I tell myself with a grin, raking a hand through my still dripping hair. Tomorrow morning, as soon as he'll sit his ass down to have his first coffee of the day, he'll have to think of me.

 

 

 

**the end?**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know who is reading this thing, so here's some clarification for anyone unfamiliar with Italy and Italian:
> 
> Saint Gennaro is the patron saint of the city of Naples.
> 
> "Genna'" is short for "Gennaro".
> 
> "Ci'" is short for "Ciro".
> 
> "Ciru'" is short for "Ciruzzo", a term of endearment created with the use of a suffix, think "-y" for English or "-kun" for Japanese.
> 
> They are all shortened forms, this is why I used an apostrophe and not an accent.


	4. acura

**acura – always catching up, rarely ahead**

 

 

-It would only be for a week- says Gennaro, making me turn to look at him for the first time since, twenty minutes ago, he showed up unannounced at my doorstep with a greasy paper bag coming from the bar down the corner and a grimace between the arrogant and the embarrassed. After the ... _thing_ that happened a few days ago I let him in only because he remembered that I only like the ones with the creme filling.... Even though I believe I never told anyone explicitly. I guess he can be observant when he wants, and needs, to.  
  
-London?- I ask, looking back at the mocha I'm screwing shut too tight above the chrome kitchen sink. - What the fuck are you gonna do in London? -  
  
-Investments. There's this lawyer there, a real egghead, who knows what he does.- he replies approaching, the voice lowering with every step he takes towards me, until he is a breath away from my back. -Just think about this- he continues with a grin, as I see one of his hands stretch out beside me, toward the gas knob, kind of caging me between his chest and the stove, -investing only 5% in these holdings, at the end of the year we will have a net proceeds of more than 20. More than we do in a month with ...-  
  
To be honest, I stopped listening to him when the words “net proceeds” left his mouth. I don't understand shit about this stuff, unlike him, and as soon as he stretched out his hand my heart jumped up my throat. With a flick of his wrist he lights the flame and I put on the coffee. I still feel my cheeks burning for the other night, I swear that when I heard his car arrive I was tempted to go and get the Beretta I keep in the bedside table, lean out the window and let his SUV experience the worst fifteen minutes of its life.  
  
-So, I would like for you to take care of the next _shipment_ while I'm away.- he concludes, handing me a set of car keys that were in the pocket of his dark sweatshirt. I don't know what the fuck to say to that and he must have noticed, because while I do nothing but looking dumbly at the keys still resting in his palm, then at his face and then at the keys again, he adds: -I told you. I trust only you, Cirù.-  
  
Ok, where's the catch? Because there must be, it's impossible that after all that has happened, after the avalanche of shit from that fucking aborted yacht party gone to hell, he sees me as he used to, as he saw me before, that he still trusts me after almost losing it and trying to get myself killed. That after keeping me practically locked up here for almost a month, now he is here to give me the helm of this whole operation. Even if temporarily.  
  
-Oih! So, what do you say?- he blurts out, rattling the keys that I still can't make up my mind to pick up and rousing me from my mistrustful ruminations. - If you don't feel up to that... -  
  
-I feel up to that.- I reply hastily, almost tearing them from his hand. This fucking asshole, I think tightening my fingers around the remote with the blue-and-white checkered crest in my hand, "If you don't feel up to it" to me, when I have been living in the streets since he was still getting his diapers changed by that harpy of his mother! I'm almost reluctant to place the keys, still warm from his body heat, on the counter, scared that he could change is mind or just be toying with me for the sake of being a vindictive dick, but Gennaro seems to still be waiting for something.  
Something I will probably need both hands for.  
  
Gratitude.

He has always preferred honey to vinegar and perhaps the time has come to stop wasting my time and start fighting this war the smart way.

I don't like how he makes me lose control, I don't like that he discovered that a finger, or a tongue ... and God! I still can't believe he didi what he did, where a man should not want anything is enough to turn my brain to mush and I don't like having to pander to his desires when he feels like that either.  
  
However, if this is enough to get me what I want without having to fire a shot, that's fine with me, all things considered.

I've always been willing to give everything, do everything, just to belong to something, just to not be alone, now more than ever. And to be fair, I like how he looks at me, I like his voice, I like his smell and above all I like his love. I like it the way only someone who grew up without a family can like it.  
  
It will not be such an unbearable sacrifice to grant him his "pound of flesh", from time to time.  
  
I take his face in my hands, because I know he likes it, and I kiss him softly, because I know that's what he wants. No teeth, no tongue, just lips like two kids, but despite this he has the look of someone who is ready to devour me in one gulp, like I just whispered a load of filth in his ear. I know that the idea of making up for the lost time, when he was still a stupid teenager and I completely absorbed with my social climbing, sets fire in his loins. There's no other explanation for him getting a hard-on the rare times I let him hold my hand.

As soon as I feel his hands rise towards my hips, I take mine off of him and step back, towards the coffee maker that has started to hiss and mutter. -The coffee ...- I say clearing my voice, going past him to the table where an empty espresso cup awaits. -Want some?-  
  
I'm turning my back on him, so his hand covering mine and making me lay down the mocha is a surprise. His mouth pressed against my shoulder and his crotch pressed against my ass, less so.  
  
-I left you Nicola's number, - he murmurs between a bite to the fabric of the t-shirt I use to sleep and one to the bare skin next to it. - He knows what there is to do. You can trust him.-  
  
\- But you stay the fuck away from Patrizia, I don't want you to see her. Not alone and not if it's not absolutely necessary. Got it?- he continues, while crushing my hand on the table with his left one and tilting my face to the side with his right one to have more space and make his tongue slide smoother from the skin of my shoulder to that at the back of my ear . -She's not stupid, she knows it was you who killed my father, I don't want any strange ideas to pop in her skull while I'm gone.-  
  
-Ummh ... yeah, okay.- I sigh going with his movements. If getting my ass eaten out was enough for me to gain the keys to his empire, who knows what I will have if I let him fuck me over the kitchen table, I think turning my head towards him and finding his scalding mouth over my shoulder with my own.

It's nothing, I can do it, I can give him what he wants, whatever it is. What I am looking for is not affection, it is only power and a way to control him. And if I have to cum to make him happy I'll do it, as long as there is no love this means nothing, it does not tarnish anyone's memory nor does it make me less of a man ... And after all, is it really pleasure if it gets ripped from you with tooth and nail?  
  
I take his right hand and bring it down to the hem of my t-shirt and help him to pull it up, curling it under my chin, giving him the silent permission to touch what he wants. He does not need to have it told him twice, passing heavy fingers from my navel, up the ribs and the diaphragm to reach a nipple. -You make me go crazy ...- he whispers against my lips, while he lets go of the hand he was still keeping flat with his own on the table, to slip his fingers up the leg of my boxers and caress with a thumb the sensitive skin between thigh and groin, making my toes curl against the cold tile floor.  
The hand continues to slide under the soft fabric, up towards the hip and back, then slips out from under the fabric and with a wide caress of the whole hot palm, that covers half of my still covered asscheek, continues on, until it reaches the waistband.  
  
-You liked what I did to you last time.-  
  
It's not a question, so I don't answer. -I bet no one has ever done it to you before.- It is not a completely accurate statement, I think in a corner of my brain suddenly flooded with memories that smell like ice and vodka. But Gennaro continues to snarl filth against my neck, hanging a finger on the waistband of my underwear and pulling it down to show what's underneath.  
That is, the sign of his teeth surrounded by a huge purple bruise.  
  
No need to correct him and soon every other though, every other touch, is ereased from my mind.

 That the other hand leaves me to fiddles with something behind me does not even register in my brain, given the tongue that has just slipped into my ear. He must have tired of waiting and finally decided to open his pants, I think biting my bottom lip and closing my eyes ... Just to open them again immediately after, when I hear the sound of a fake camera shutter snap.  
-Tch!- he clicks his tongue, leaning his forearms on my shoulders and putting the screen of his phone in front of my nose, with the picture he just took of my bruised ass on display. -I'll take this with me. For when I feel lonely.- he murmurs, leaving a last kiss on my mouth when I whip my head around to look at him. Fucking pervert ...  
  
-Aren't you gonna drink that?- he asks, moving away and pointing at the still full mocha on the table with his chin, as he continues to fiddle with his cell phone. - You better hurry, I left you the car with full tank, I have to be in Fiumicino at four o'clock and someone has to go and check that idiot Casillo doesn't fuck up the laundry contract - he continues as if he had not had his hands all over me just minutes ago, leaving me in the middle of the kitchen with a near-erection like a stupid kid.  
  
-Azzurra and Pietro are coming ...- I begin, clearing my throat. -Mh, nah.- Gennaro immediately stops me, putting his hand in the greasy bag still close on the table and tearing off a piece the croissant inside, shoving it between his teeth. -They are staying- he continues with his mouth full, checking something on the phone screen scrolling down with a fast swipe of his thumb, -Patri's taking care of them.-  
  
-Mh ...-  
  
I'm trying to keep a normal face, but I bet anyone would see a mile away that I'm pissed off. And I'm even more so when I get to my coffee, which is now a barely warm kitchen sink rinse water. I have never been able to bear humiliations well, much less ones on his part.  
  
-And stop making that face, baby- he says, taking my chin between thumb and forefinger and making me look up from my dark reflection in the cup to his face. - At that, - and with a nod of the head points to the pathetic tent pitched in my boxers. -I want you to take care later, in the shower. And think of me when you do it. All right?-  
  
He's so close that the tips of our noses are touching, but it doesn't go any further tha that and it's better this way. I'm angry, I don't like these fucking games, especially when I think I'm doing it all for him alone, because I would be fucking ecstatic without having to endure his attentions.

I take his hand off my face with a jerk of my head and avoid looking at him, but Gennaro doesn't even seem to notice.  
  
\- I'll tell you something before I board ... _Cia_ '! - he throws carelessly over his shoulder as he leaves the kitchen, going to the front door and leaving me alone in the stifling silence of the now empty apartment.  
  
Not even a goodbye kiss.

 

 

 The first few days fly by so fast I hardly take notice, taken as I am from being back in the streets and alleys I know so well, but surrounded by fresh faces that I've never seen before and that are just waiting to hang from my lips.  
  
It is not exactly as it was before, there is less blood and more discussing with politicians and entrepreneurs with turbid business and oily looks, but soon a new war will start, one against something that I myself have created, and we must be ready.  
  
Apart from a short and obscene call, on the evening of the fourth day, I hear nothing from Gennaro, but I'm sure that Nicola and the two armed gorillas who follow me everywhere inform him of everything I do. Otherwise how can you explain the only other phone call I get from him, this time angry and screaming when, after one night spent working my ass off to get an agreement from a councilor, I hadn't returned to the apartment, electing to sleep in a hotel just out of downtown Naples without warning anyone.  
  
Gennaro should come back on Monday, but he doesn't show up, instead he goes completely silent for three whole days. Nicola assures me that there is nothing to worry about and I, in return, assure him that I am not worried at all. Although when he finally calls, again to ask me if I think of him under the shower and if still have the marks he left me, I indulge him as much as I can and in return I get some more information.  
Apparently this deal is not as easy as it had initially seemed. - A little patience still, love, just a little more patience ...- he sighs, still short of breath for the handjob he just finished on himself.  
  
It almost seems to me that he is saying it more to himself, than to me.

 

 

It is almost dawn when I return to the apartment, which I now know so well that I feel I can navigate even in the cold, meagre morning light that filters through the glass door of the living room And that's why I end up stumbling over the large suitcase left near the door and almost I break my face against the wall. I'm so tired that it takes me a moment to understand what it all means.  
  
I do not try to make less noise going to my bedroom, after all that's _me_ living _here_ , still I open the slightly ajar door gentler than I normally would.  
  
And there he is, thrown on the bed, snoring like a steam engine, Gennaro. He's still wearing what must be the suit he had on when he left London, dress shirt, shiny leather shoes and all the rest, the only thing that he seems to have took off before collapsing on the mattress is his dark jacket, thrown on the ground at the foot of the bed . I slip off my shoes without untying the laces and drop them next to the door, just below the chair already cluttered with used clothes and the leather jacket I was wearing tonight, then, still in the dark, I go to the small bathroom attached to the bedroom.  
I'm not gone for long, just enough time to brush my teeth, rinse my face and hurry back to the bedroom going straight to the dresser. It's late autumn now, the floor is freezing and I left practically everything I was wearing in the bathroom, in the laundry basket. It smelled like gasoline.  
  
The large drawer runs along the guides with a sigh, it's the second from the bottom, the one where I keep everything that can now be used only as pajamas or stay-at-home clothes, and find myself something suitable relying on touch alone in the darkness of the room. Actually, the wide boxers and t-shirt I used for sleeping in the last few days would still be good to wear but, unfortunately, they are under the pillow, and the pillow is under Gennaro's head and we all know the saying about waking up the sleeping dog.  
  
-Hey...-  
  
Damn.  
  
\- Hey ... did I wake you?-  
  
His answer is a vague "mh" and a slow blink of the eyelids, he seems something more than half asleep still, but even with the little light that filters through the curtains of the French doors I can see him looking at me as I bend to put on a pair of light shorts. I feel the skin of my arms almost hurt when a wave of goosebumps runs through it, sudden and violent. Maybe it's time to start turning on the heater, I think, raising my arms and slipping on the huge and threadbare t-shirt that, to be honest, isn't really mine. Or at least, it didn't _used_ to be mine.  
  
-Come here- he says to me, his voice still rough with sleep, as he makes the springs on the mattress creak turning on his side.  
  
-This is my side. I tell in a low voice, going to sit in the space still warm from his body, he has just made on the bed.  
  
-I know.- he answers with his eyes closed, rubbing the side of his face on the pillow with a deep sigh.  
  
-And that's my shirt.- he adds, looking back at me, taking the hem between his fingers and rubbing it pesively, as if he was considering the quality of the fabric. I don't know what it is, maybe it's the absurd morning hour, or the intimate and suffocating darkness of the room, like the inside of a church, or maybe the fact that he was supposed to stay away for a week and then, instead, remained in England for almost a month, but the fact remains that I feel strangely benevolent and condescending, as of now. That's probably the reason why I find myself softly caressing his bristly cheek.

 -You're looking worn.- I tell him with a half smile, running my fingers through his dark hair, still slightly sticky from anything he used to stop them from curling.  
  
-The food there was crap.- he replies with a grimace that makes me smile and shake my head. And he says _I_ am the spoiled one! But it's true, he has lost weight and sporting a bad pair of dark circles under his eyes that stand out even more on his pale face.  
  
He moves his head just a smidge to let my nails score from the back of his neck almost inside the back of the collar of his shirt and, for the first time, I notice the gleam of some white hair starting to peep out along his temples. It doesn't make sense, but suddenly I'm glad he's lying on his left side, hiding the scar I left him with over three years ago. He looks so old, now. As if there is something devouring the ten years that separate us, to bring us closer and closer ... I don't want to drag him with me, I realize trying to swallow the stone that seems to be lodged in my throat.  
-Am I hurting you?- I whisper, so softly that I'm almost sure he hasn't heard me until I see his mouth twist into something that, was it a more human hour of the day and there was the sun in the sky instead of the cold moon, it could be called a smile.  
  
-Every day.- is what he answers.  
  
I don't know what the fuck is going on with me tonight, because even though the thought that everything I touch I destroy makes my eyes burn, I can't stop caressing his face.  
  
I'm so caught up in tracing his profile with my fingers that when I find the hand that was playing around with my t-shirt encircling my wrist and feel it gently pulling me down, I startle. - Come here - he tells me in a low voice, -Lay down.-  
  
I certainly had no intention of going to sleep on the livingroom sofa, but it's not exactly warm and I wouldn't mind getting under the covers, but the idea of asking him to get up doesn't even cross brain, and when I finally give up and lay next to him, on the narrow strip of mattress between his body and the edge of the bed, I realize that between the heat his body left behind and his warm chest, covered only by a cotton shirt, against the whole length of my back, the temperature is almost perfect.  
  
A wide arm slips under my own and rests heavily across my waist, just to slip up along my chest while a silent laugh shakes us both. -What are you laughing at?- I ask him.  
  
-Nothing.-  
  
He is still smiling, I can feel it from the lips touching the back of my neck. -Just thinking that at least with you, I won't end up with a ball of hair in my mouth, tonight.-  
  
-What a fucking idiot you are! - I hiss, giving him a half-hearted elbowing to the stomach to which he responds by trapping my feet between his legs and pressing his face against my shoulder. Seconds pass and I feel his breathing getting deeper and more regular, while the arm draped around my waist becomes a dead weight.

Well, I think with a sigh, just have to get settled for a long, sleepless night, I'm no longer used to sharing a bed with someone, and the last person I did that with was my ... I don't even want to think about that.  
  
Somewhere a bell beats six o'clock and all of a sudden, even the faint blue light that's filtering from the balcony door is more than I can bear.  
  
I struggle to turn on my other side but Gennaro does not seem to wake and with my face hidden against the darkness of his chest I finally feel the tense muscles of my shoulders loosen.  
  
I will close my eyes, just for a moment ... Just for a ...

 

 

**the end?**

 


End file.
